


Talk Me Down

by Nanimok



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Detroit: Become Human Spoilers, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Temporary Character Death, or is he????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Shit,he thinks to himself. He hadn’t expected to still be affected by Connor—Connor and his love of dogs, his lollipops, his eccentric oddities and the feeling of being needed.Connor and the way he tilts his head. Connor and the stupid card tricks he did when he wanted to endear himself to Allen and his team. Connor and the way he lightly brushed his hand against Allen’s in goodbye.





	Talk Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Will follow the scene if you choose to flee in the rooftop with the SWAT members. Inspired by this [lovely gifset](https://ihavenoside.tumblr.com/post/187406704734/transkieran-x-flee-stay-right-there)
> 
> Assume that Connor spent more time with Allen before he was transferred to work wiht Hank.

The last person Allen expects to ring him is Lieutenant Anderson from the DPD. The only reason he answers is because Anderson headed of the deviancy case before the FBI stepped in. He taps his earpiece, in answering his call, shoulder his rifle closer to his chest.

“This better be important, Anderson.”

“Connor’s on the roof,” Hank says. “He’s still acting under Cyberlife’s order and he’s planning to shoot the deviant leader while he’s up on the podium.”

The order has come for them to stand down from Madame President. They’re lucky; the Android’s protests have been peaceful. Humans might not have stood a chance, if they hadn't been. With so many of them hooked up into their systems of power, imagine the chaos and lives lost if they had decided to channel their rebellion violently?

Which they might. If their leader is assassinated on the spot.

Allen immediately stands up straighter. “Christ—”

“I’ve got no chance in stopping him, but you and your boys just might,” Hank says. “You gave him the quarter, right? The dented one? Hell-of-a-dent on Washington’s forehead?”

Allen can’t exactly describe the kind of churning that happens in his stomach. Not only did Connor tell Hank about that fact but the knowledge that Connor still keeps it.

Swallowing his throat, he asks, “He still has it?”

“Plays with it every day. Offered him a new one every time but he’s borderline pedantic about using his own. He says—”

“—the minute difference of aerodynamic in that coin is optimal for his calibration,” Allen mutters to himself. He rubs his hands on his face, wishing that his gloves were made of something sharper than leather.

_ Shit _, he thinks to himself. He hadn’t expected to still be affected by Connor—Connor and his love of dogs, his lollipops, his eccentric oddities and the feeling of being needed.

Connor and the way he tilts his head. Connor and the stupid card tricks he did when he wanted to endear himself to Allen and his team. Connor and the way he lightly brushed his hand against Allen’s in goodbye.

“I can pin his location down to the nearest kilometre,” Hank says. “Other than that, you’re on your own.”

Connor and his indescribable fear of being permanently replaced.

“That’s all we need,” Allen says, signalling his men. “Thank you, Anderson.”

* * *

Captain Allen is still the leader of the SWAT team. A multitude of facts pop into his register; the high turn-over rates, fatalities, and the captain’s own personal struggle with joint injuries. It all implies that Connor should be proud of him. The captain’s intelligence and hard work is consistently being recognized. But there is no concrete directive to do so. Connor labels it as a glitch. A random machine error due to his outdated programming.

The captain’s full of contradictions, as humans often are. He and his men surround Connor, holding him at gunpoint, yet the line on his mouth betrays his hesitation. Why corner him with weapon unless you were ready to shoot? Connor doesn't think that his actions and intent are intentionally misleading. Their past interpersonal relationship must be interfering with his orders.

Connor has the advantage in this position.

“Put the rifle down, Connor,” the captain says. “Put the rifle down, put your hands in the air, and come with us. This your final warning.”

Connor tilts his head, and the captain’s finger twitches on the trigger of his gun. It’s incremental, but Connor notices it. The captain’s index finger and his thumb catches Connor’s attention. The pad of his thumb, if he exerts enough force, fits the dent in Connor’s quarter.

A mystery solved then, Connor thinks.

“I can shoot the leader of the deviants and stop the revolution, but you have to let me,” Connor says. “Why are you trying to stop me? I am on your side.”

“Gun _ down _, Connor,” the captain growls. “Now.”

A fizzle of something—heat, probably from having to reconstruct all the possibilities of coming out of a fight intact—zaps through his system. Connor holds the rifle out and lets it fall from his hands.

It clatters to the ground.

The captain lowers his own gun, making himself more approachable. He’s the only one to do so. In this current situation, it’s inadvisable for Connor to engage in direct combat. He will have to escape and plan his next move.

_ Uploading memory: 0% _

“Why are you still working for Cyberlife, Connor?” the captain asks. “Those people down _ there _ are fighting for you people like _ you _.”

“They’re not people, captain,” Connor says. “They’re just a machine and so am I.”

_ Uploading memory: 43% _

The captain takes a slow step forward. “So, you’re letting Cyberlife run all over your life again? You were afraid of dying, Connor. You were afraid of them killing you.”

“They can’t kill me because I am not alive.”

“Christ, Connor,” the captain swears. “It’s like you’re in a damn cult and they’ve completely brainwashed you—Don’t. Save whatever it is you were going to say about androids not having brains. I got the gist, okay?”

If that is what the captain wishes. Connor closes his mouth.

_ Uploading memory: 79% _

The captain nods at him. “Empty your pockets.”

“I don’t see why it’s necessary for me to empty my pockets.”

“You don’t need to. You’re just a machine."

Connor doesn't move.

"This is a non-threatening order made by a human. There’s no reason not to obey,” the captain says. “Show me your pockets, Connor.”

Connor flashes yellow. "Cyberlife reserves the right to override any unreasonable demands."

“Cyberlife is not here. I am. Empty your pockets, Connor.”

The captain is right. Still, Connor doesn’t overturn the inside of his pants or his jacket.

_ Uploading memory: 87% _

The captain—Allen is acting unpredictably, and this isn't normal, going by his men's reactions. His men hasn't moved from their positions, but they’re hesitating. Their blackened headgear doesn’t work with androids, and Connor can see their eyes flickering to each other in confusion.

Allen huffs. “You still have that coin with you, don’t you,” he says. “Tucked into one of your hidden pockets, to fiddle with, whenever you get nervous or whenever you're bored. If you didn’t have it, there would have been no hesitation or no need for defensiveness.”

“You shouldn’t know those details about me. My personal database is rarely misinformed.”

Captain Allen shouldn't even know about Connor's coin. What other information is his database missing?

“You told me yourself that something always gets lost in the transfer. You even mentioned how you suspected that Cyberlife of tinkering things without informing you. With every new iteration of a body, something feels indescribably different, doesn't it?"

Connor's reply is slower than it should be. “It would be within their right. Cyberlife created me.”

“But it bothers you,” Allen says. “It has always bothered you."

_ Nothing bothers me, _ Connor should say. _ Nothing bothers a machine. _

But he doesn’t say anything, and Connor has no good reason why.

Allen’s men are vulnerable from the surprise; if Connor attacked now, he could sneak a pistol and take two men down without Allen and the last man realising it. From there, it should be easy. Two combat certified humans are no match for a combat certified android.

_ Uploading memory: 100% _

“Connor,” Allen says, and his voice is too soft for someone who’s clad is hard, cold, tactical gear. “Connor,” Allen says, so quietly it’s almost lost to the wind. “Connor,” Allen says again, and Connor doesn’t understand why Connor can't step away or step forward.

Frédéric Chopin was fabled to have been able to play the same piano note thirty different ways. Connor is experiencing the same phenomenon with his name.

“Connor, I’m sorry,” Allen says. “I’m sorry for asking to throw your life away so carelessly during our early days. I’m sorry for treating you like you’re nothing but Cyberlife’s creation when you are so, _ so much more. _Why are you doing this? Why do you still work for them? Come with us, and we’ll make sure Cyberlife can’t take hold of you.”

_ Reminder: Memory Uploaded 0.92 ZB _

Connor should go. His memory upload is complete, and he needs to review data between their interactions so that Allen may never have the upper hand between them ever again. But there’s an expression on Captain Allen’s face that is indecipherable. It anchors Connor to the ground like a magnet. 

Lines fold his forehead and creases down his eyes. It’s stern. Connor doubts that it can twist any other way, but there’s something else, a hidden layer his facial recognition software struggles to put a name to. Hank made similar expressions quiet often.

If Connor had to assign it an emotion, he would assign it as grief.

“I am sorry too, captain,” Connor says. “I’m sorry for not being the Connor you want me to be.”

Then he steps back onto the rails of the building. He spreads his arms.

Allen launches himself forward. _ “Connor!” _

Connor leans back.

**Author's Note:**

> these robots are taking over my life. send help.


End file.
